


Striking Iron

by thirstyeet



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstyeet/pseuds/thirstyeet
Summary: The Chronicler finds Kvothe’s personal account of his Adem experience. Kvothe’s relationship with Tempi seemed a bit different from the story Kote told at the Waystone earlier that day.
Relationships: Kvothe/Tempi (Kingkiller Chronicles)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Striking Iron

**Author's Note:**

> AKA, some ~unsolicited~ Tempi/Kvothe. Just an idea that I couldn't get out of my head, pulling some lines from The Wise Men's Fear, just for fun. 
> 
> Took a shot every time I accidentally typed Kink-killer instead of Kingkiller Chronicles while googling random stuff

The silence in three parts. 

The Chronicler had grown accustomed to the deep stillness of the inn at night. However, there was an edge of adrenaline keeping him awake this night- namely the heated argument with Bast about Cthaeh.  
The scribe decided a drink may be of some aid. 

He moved quietly through the Waystone Inn, noting light from behind Kvothe’s door indicating that the barkeep was also having a sleepless night. He snuck behind the mahogany bar and snaked around various wooden casks lining the narrow hall to a storage area. The shelves held a smattering of dried meats, cheeses, and fruits and stacked glass bottles, cups, and bowls. Chronicler grabbed a bottle and held candlelight to its side to read the label. Blackberry. That would do nicely. 

His candlelight also caught the shine of a doorknob tucked away at the end of the shelves. 

His curiosity got the better of him. 

Behind the door was closet-sized study with room for only a small desk and chair. On top of the desk were some of Kote’s handwritten recipes for a meaty stew, apple pie, and puddings. The chronicler skimmed, quickly analyzing the handwriting. From his line of work, he felt personalities made themselves known in handwriting. The traits he saw were no surprise. Tight loops. Tension. Attention to detail in the i’s. Long crosses on the t. Stubborn. Slanted. **Private.**

There was a box underneath the desk with crumpled papers inside. He smoothed a few of what appeared to be pages ripped from a bound journal. The chronicler’s heart rate quickened in excitement as he collected and tried to organize the pages. 

Could these be some of Kvothe’s failed attempts to write his own story? _Why wouldn’t he throw them away?_

It began at a familiar part of the tale that the chronicler had written earlier today. In Kvothe’s writing:  
_I knew it was the right thing to do to go with Tempi to Haert. It was of the Lethani._

**\---**

On the 15-day journey to Haert, Tempi and Kvothe got into a rhythm of running, performing Ketan, walking, then discussion of the Lethani. He missed the times when Tempi let him teach the lute. His fingers longed to play, and his muscles ached for rest. But the redhead remained focused for both of their sake. 

The night before they arrived, Kvothe could sense Tempi’s unrest. His face was passive as ever, but his focus was far away from the campfire his hands were tending to.  
“I worry. For you.” Tempi addressed the arcanist’ steady staring. 

“Am I doing that poorly?” Kvothe tried to lighten the mood.

 _Negation._ “Rare for a barbarian to join.” He hesitated. _Attachment._

Kvothe had grown attached to Tempi in my own way and wondered if he would still be able to see the mercenary or if he would be punished or put away when they arrived. 

“Let’s put our mind on something else.” Kvothe said. 

No use to think of the worst that could happen when there was no more time to prepare. 

Tempi squirmed. “Music?” He bashfully looked towards the lute case that hadn’t been opened since their stay at the Pennyworth with Dedan, Hespe, and Marten.  
Kvothe was more than pleasantly surprised he asked. 

He reflected on the strange relationship Tempi seemed to have with music. It was unlike him to simply ask Kvothe to play. When the trouper first played, Tempi hid out of sight and watched attentively. Then there was that early time they held camp and began to teach each other words from their respective languages. Kvothe asked for an Adem song and the Tempi flushed red as fire and refused. 

Complicated.

Tempi was concealing a motion from his hand that Kvothe had not seen before.  


Kvothe decided not to address it and happily uncased the lute. Better to just take up the opportunity.

Tempi stayed sitting across from him, legs crossed, as the musician’s hands and lute became familiar as they had many times before. It was only slightly out of tune from lack of use. Kvothe wasn’t sure he would ever fully understand the comfort zones and boundaries of the Adem. He strummed no particular song and let melodies blend and roam. 

“Your hands fit this music.” Tempi said. His eyes were fixated on the instrument and avoided direct eye contact with Kvothe. 

“I have soft musician hands eh?” 

“No. This.” Tempi was close enough to grip part of the lute. “Size. Movement. Fits your hands.” 

He let a smile spread across his face. “Fits this _instrument._ ” He emphasized the word.

“What instrument fits mine?” Tempi asked. 

An interesting question. Kvothe imagined a few variations of Tempi onstage at the Eolian. 

Picturing him stoically playing a tambourine or drums were the most amusing. 

“Flute.” He decided. 

“Why?” 

“Careful hands...” He couldn’t quite put words to it, but it made the sense when he pictured it. Tempi certainly had the breath for it with his pace of running and Ketan.

“It’s soft but can also be sharp.”

This seemed to please Tempi. 

“Would you like me to teach you a song?” Kvothe patted the space between his legs in an offer to teach him to play with the musician’s hands guiding. 

Tempi hesitated. “I would like to just watch. This time.” 

“Maybe even sing along?” Kvothe egged him on. 

“I don’t know the words to any of your songs.”

“You’ll catch on quick, that’s the way it was designed.”

Kvothe began the familiar chords of Tinker Tanner comfortably, thinking of the new verse the young boy exchanged with him. He decided he would save that for later and let Tempi get comfortable with the fun and easy verses that made the song stand the test of time. 

As certain verses repeated, Tempi seemed to catch on and follow. His Aturan had come so far from when they met. Kvothe’s heart swelled with pride. He didn’t want to draw attention to it to further exacerbate Tempi’s seeming embarrassment to humming along; Tempi could still barely meet his eyes. The two stayed like that, Kvothe’s voice strong and clear with his near silent duet accompanying against him. 

He might’ve even seen Tempi crack a little smile with certain funny lyrics.

It suited his face very well, Kvothe decided.

**\---**

The chronicler was ripped from his readings when he heard a sound. He silently prayed it was a mouse and not the gracious host coming to discover the chronicler nose-deep in his diary- er, private memoir. After a nervous pause with no further sound, he dared to shuffle through the next pages. The next few passages read much like the tale Kvothe described that day- how he was to prove himself to Shehyn, how he was assigned to train with Vashet… the next deviation from Kvothe’s story earlier that day was the conversation with Vashet about Adem intimacy.

He refilled his blackberry wine and read a familiar quote from Vashet.  


**\---**  


_“That is because for us, speaking is private. Intimate. Facial expression too… The warmth a voice can make. The emotion it reveals. That is a very private thing.”_

Kvothe processes what Vashet said. Music, speaking, and facial expressions are intimate. And those were all his specialties as a member of the Edema Ruh. 

Kvothe also realized how forward he was with Tempi ever since they had met. He thought of the way Tempi used to watch the musician play his lute hidden out of sight. Was that like watching a peep show? 

He felt he would surely drown from the heat and embarrassment that washed over him. 

Being in the world outside of Ademre must be so overstimulating. 

Kvothe then thought back to the night before they arrived in Haert. He remembered the motion Tempi made when he requested Kvothe play music to distract themselves the night before they arrived in Haert. 

“What does this mean?” Kvothe mimicked the concealed motion Tempi made.  


Vashet looked genuinely caught by surprise and laughed deeply.  


“That’s very flirty. It’s kind of like batting eyelashes.” She exaggerated with lusty, half-lidded eyes, looking him up and down.  


Kvothe felt a coil of electricity spark to life deep in his core. _Tehlu._ His training with the Felurian was useless to figuring out what was flirting for these people.  


She sighed wistfully. “I haven’t seen that since my younger days.”  


He was immensely grateful she didn’t ask where he’d seen it.  


Was Tempi consciously flirting with him or could he not help it?  


After that, he wanted to understand everything. The two chatted late into the night about all things in Ademic culture from courting, marriage, and family making. The Adem views on pregnancy were most confusing. To think men only held anger and had no part in a woman becoming pregnant.  


“What about a man being with another man?”  


“Bad. There’s nowhere for the anger to go.” She said simply.  


That settled it. Kvothe understood why Tempi was so shy with his flirtation. Being gay wasn’t necessarily taboo back at the university, but it appeared to be viewed as dangerous here. Dangerous enough to drive men mad or poison their mind.  


That night Kvothe had trouble falling asleep. He probed the tangled ball of feelings in his gut, reflecting on his time with Tempi.  


Kvothe always had a weakness for secrets and challenges of the world, to both his benefit and disadvantage. The Adem’s silence and expressionlessness initially drew him in (and to some extent the tight mercenary reds helped). His hunger to learn everything about Ademic culture and the man that pulled him into it hadn’t been sated.  


Tempi believed in Kvothe enough to put his reputation and livelihood at risk. Teaching him the Ketan when it could mean being cut off from his world. What did Tempi initially see in him? _What were they?_  


The next time Kvothe saw Tempi, dutifully eating a plain oatmeal breakfast, he examined him with a new lens.  
Kvothe had seen him stretch elegantly in the Ketan, tediously bathe himself in streams, and in various states of undress without much thought to whoever was watching.  


He was unlike the Felurian in every way. Where she was soft and supple, Tempi was lean, taut with muscles like a wild cat, and peppered with shallow scars. Her eyes were dark and looked at Kvothe adoringly, but Tempi’s pale grey eyes hardly ever met Kvothe’s.  


He wondered would it look like to see Tempi’s blank expression unravel into a toothy smile.  


Or scrunch up with curiosity.  


Or giving a teasing look.  


Putting something besides a spoon in his mouth.  


Or panting beneath him.  


He stifled the very rapid escalation of his mental images. It fished a longing from deep within Kvothe that he had never felt the likes of before.  


He steeled his mind before bringing his breakfast over to sit next to Tempi.  
_Might as well ask._  


“The other day Vashet was teaching me a few…other aspects of Adem culture.” Kvothe started.  


Tempi listened, expressionlessly.  


“So, casual sex is normal?” Kvothe fought down the twinge of awkwardness he felt bringing this subject matter up. They hadn’t really talked about such things with each other before.  


Tempi seemed a bit interested at this direction and paused thoughtfully before responding.  


“Yes, sex is not the same as for barbarians. Not shameful. A body function.”  


“Like eating? Or peeing?”  


“Yes.”  


“What, no special hand gesture stuff?” Kvothe asked. Just to clarify. Only partway joking.  


Another pregnant pause. “You could say Adem are adept with our hands.”  


Kvothe nearly choked. Was that just fantastic wordplay or a brazen flirt?  


“I, uh, also wanted to ask about when I play my music with you…”  


Tempi very hastily signed _serious, nervous, slight guilt,_ “Not now.”  


“Tonight?”  


“After your training.”  


After that, Kvothe didn’t waste any time hustling to his training with Vashet. She quickly noticed his antsy energy, and she decided to utilize it all afternoon by making him perform the Ketan slowly with his sword, holding positions until the sword burdened his arms like lead.  


A few hours passed before Vashet decided it was time to tease Kvothe.  


“Got somewhere to be?” She corrected his wobbling arm height in Catching Rain.  


“Perhaps to see your secret flirt?” Vashet made the flirty hand sign that Kvothe imitated from Tempi, followed by _endearing amusement._  


“I wonder who showed you that sign. Penthe surely seemed sweet on you…”  


Kvothe focused harder on his form, but it was beginning to fail with Vashet’s distractions.  


“You may go for today. You are clearly not focused, and you appear to have some anger to do away with.”  


“Uh, thank you. Until tomorrow.” Kvothe excused himself and made his way from the training field.  
**\---**  


Kvothe realized he had never been to Tempi’s home. The houses hidden into the terrain were harder to make out as it got later, so he wandered back to the communal eating area.  


Luckily, that seemed to occur to Tempi as well.  


He was sitting at one of the benches as Kvothe approached. _Slight surprise._ “You’re early.”  


“According to Vashet, I have too much anger to train today.” He admitted.  


Tempi paused, but it seemed charged this time. “Do you know what anger is?”  


“Not really.” He didn’t want to say what he had originally interpreted it as.  


From his conversations with Vashet on Adem intimacy, Kvothe thought anger seemed like a roundabout way of describing a sex drive. He reminded himself that sex was just a sex to them, but it was still jarring to have a mentor say something along the lines of _‘go home for the day, you’re too horny to focus.’_  


Maybe Master Elodin might say something like that.  


“It is like…” Tempi pressed a hand to Kvothe’s stomach, like he did when he explained where the Lethani came from.  


“A drive to succeed and grow in all things. Burning fire. Passion. Energy. Life.” His hand trailed from Kvothe’s stomach to over his chest to where his heart was.  


Tempi didn’t have as much of a way with words as Kvothe’s other teachers, but his words were chosen carefully. Kvothe soaked it in and fought the various feelings bubbling to the surface from being touched by the mercenary this way. It felt different this time.  


“What’s your anger like?” Kvothe asked.  


“I don’t know. I’ve never been with someone to say.” He answered earnestly. “Tempi means ‘little iron.’ Tempa, means ‘strike iron’ and ‘angry.’”  


“So, you must be full of it if that’s the name you were given.” Kvothe blurted.  


Tempi’s stoic face finally broke into a boyish smile, flustered, his hand retreating from Kvothe’s chest.  


“They said it was because I was difficult.” Tempi diverted. He still seemed flattered by the statement.  


It didn’t make much sense, but Kvothe wanted to keep digging. It was the most expressive he had seen Tempi. And Tempi’s shyness at this subject matter was winding up something within Kvothe.  


Boldness. _Desire._ “Are you interested in mine?”  


“I did not think you would ask.” Tempi responded.  


“You thought wrong.”  


Kvothe watched a myriad of reactions flash across Tempi’s face. _Questioning, shock, excitement._ He liked getting to see those grey eyes change and lock intensely, his eyebrows furrowing, his cheeks flushing.  


He pulled the Tempi into a tight kiss. It was as quick as a strike of lightening, and lust rumbled throughout his body like reverberating thunder.  
Tempi matched the intensity of the kiss and pulled Kvothe’s body closer by a handful of fiery red hair.  
**\---**

“Found yourself a bedtime story?”  


The Chronicler jumped. He was a bit buzzed on the blackberry wine he had been sipping throughout reading and was so engrossed in Kvothe’s writing he hadn’t heard the barkeep approaching.  


His mouth moved but words failed him. He was caught red-handed.  


“Why did you hide that relationship?” The chronicler could not stop himself from asking.  


“I didn’t want to come across as a man-whore.”  


“After the stories you told of the Felurian, you could have slept with the whole of Severen and they would have likely thanked you for your service.”  


Kvothe couldn’t help but laugh at that. But reflecting, he responded.  


“Honestly…I was young, and I’d never been with a man. And it was difficult to leave. I couldn’t take Tempi with me to the University, and I couldn’t stay in Ademre. And I still had matters to clear up with Denna. Truthfully, the more I speak, the more it all seems like piles of excuses.” Kvothe said bitterly to himself.  


“It almost made it worse to get close to him like that.” He continued.  


“Sorry. For breaching your privacy. And bringing back painful memories.” The chronicler apologized.  


He had overstepped and feared he wouldn’t get to hear the continuation of Kvothe’s life story tomorrow. There were still so many questions about what brought Kvothe to where he was now. Where Bast came in, what brought him to this small town…  


“No, no. Much of my life is painful to recall, but Tempi taught me things I should not forget. The power of silence, for one.” Kvothe joked.  


“Well. I hope you weren’t saving this for a special occasion.” The chronicler said sheepishly and offered the half empty wine bottle he had been working his way through whilst reading Kvothe’s journal.  


“No, I have a surplus of these as well as apple cider.”  


They both drank.  


“Would you let me add this to your original story?” The chronicler broke the silence.  


Kvothe considered it for some time.  


“He deserves that much.”


End file.
